


Cravings

by wingsofbadass



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Food Fight, M/M, Marco Bodtom Week, Morning Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After morning sex, nothing could be better than breakfast. Except maybe a food fight.</p><p>(Written for Marco Bodtom Week 2015, Day 2 "In The Kitchen")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, this didn't go as planned at all. Not even a little. And now I want pancakes.

Boneless, Jean lets himself melt against Marco's bare back. His blood is still roaring in his ears and his breath is heavy as he pants against the damp skin of Marco's shoulder. He probably shouldn't press Marco against the tabletop like this, but his knees are quaking with the intensity of the orgasm he just had and he's not sure he could stand upright if he tried.

The fingers of his left hand are still twined with those of Marco's against the wood of the kitchen table.

“Holy shit,” Jean says, voice coming out raspy and fucked out.

In response, Marco just lets out a deep hum, before tightening around Jean playfully, squeezing his over-sensitive dick. A helpless moan spills from Jean's mouth at the intense pressure and he can't help but push closer once more, holding Marco tightly with the arm still slung around his hips as they quake together.

Unwilling to pull out and lose this feeling, Jean trails open-mouthed kisses over the curve of Marco's shoulder, reveres the powered sugar dusting of freckles on his tanned skin with the brush of gentle lips, tastes the satiation in the warmth of his skin and the salt of his sweat.

Fuck, Marco is just so beautiful. With a sigh, Jean nuzzles against the back of Marco's neck, letting the tip of his nose graze along the short hairs the nape. Carefully, Jean moves his hips in tiny circles and listens to Marco's breath hitch at the sensation. He knows how much Marco loves this, loves having Jean inside him and _feeling_ him.

Jean is just wondering if they could go for another round, when Marco says: “I'm starving.”

With a laugh, Jean lets his gaze follow Marco's to the kitchen counter where all the supplies for breakfast are still assembled without even being used. From this angle, he can see flour, eggs, milk, and some other packets. He presses another kiss to Marco's broad shoulder and then he straightens up to pull out slowly.

“What were you gonna make?” Jean asks as he wobbles over to the sink and tosses the condom into the trash. With a grimace, he turns on the tap and washes Marco's come off his fingers.

“Blueberry pancakes,” Marco replies from behind Jean and then he makes those tell-take noises, drawn-out hums and the creak of joints, that betray that he's stretching. And indeed, when Jean turns around, he sees that Marco is on his toes, hands reaching towards the ceiling, muscles shifting under his dotted skin. Marco catches him staring and smiles. “But you evilly thwarted my plans.”

Jean scoffs, leaning back against the kitchen unit. “I didn't hear you complain.”

Stepping lightly over their discarded night clothes, Marco closes in on Jean until there's just a breath between the lines of their bodies. “You're annoyingly irresistible in the morning.”

Marco is even closer now. Jean grins. “You're wonderfully easy in the morning.”

They share a soft kiss, an exchange of sighs and happiness, standing naked in their kitchen. Marco's hands are warm on Jean's face, cradling his jaw with a tenderness that has him feeling so damn _lucky_. The way their mouths move against each other is slow and lazy, an ardent drag of lips that speaks of love where words are no longer necessary between them. 

And then, there's dull thud against the side of Jean's head and a wet trickle down his ear. With a yelp he breaks away from Marco who flashes a cheeky smile and bites his lower lip. Raw egg is dripping down Jean's neck, white bits of shell raining down onto the tiles.

“You're gonna regret that,” Jean announces darkly. Without breaking eye-contact with his treacherous boyfriend, he inches his hand over the counter until it hits plastic. Perfect. With one quick move, Jean dumps the carefully measured flour over Marco's head. 

The measuring cup clatters to the ground, when Marco laughs brightly and grabs Jean's wrists in his hands. He shakes his head like a dog coming out of the water then, dusting Jean with an avalanche of flour that sticks disgustingly to the egg on his side.

After that, it's absolute mayhem. Sugar goes flying everywhere in the midst of shrieking laughter and when that bag is empty, it's the flour that paints their hair gray and swirls around them in clouds and transforms their corner of the kitchen into a messy snowscape. 

While Jean is distracted, trying to scoop some of the disgusting yolk-flour paste off the side of his neck and fling it onto Marco, Marco darts forward and takes the whole carton of eggs for himself. With a mischievous grin, he theatrically wiggles his fingers over the remaining four eggs as though trying to decide on the perfect one.

“Hey, that's not fair,” Jean yells in outrage. 

“Oh, don't be such a baby!” Marco taunts, then takes an egg and mimes taking aim at Jean.

Taking stock of the remaining arsenal of weapons – butter, milk, blueberries – Jean makes a quick decision and goes for the fruit.

Marco gasps. “Nooo, not the blueberries! Those are organic!”

“You should've thought of that before you viciously attacked me!” Making a show of it, Jean takes a handful of berries and squeezes them in his palm until the juice runs out between his fingers, dripping to the floor and making purple splotches on the floury, sugary floor. 

They throw at the same time, Jean getting hit by the egg on his chest and the splatter of cold slime making him shudder. Marco gets hit by the blueberry mush square in the face and Jean lets out a whoop of triumph, before he goes for another handful of blueberries.

By the time they're out of ammo, both of them are covered in gunk of almost-batter and smears of fruit. Cackling, Jean pulls Marco in by the wrists and presses against him, hoping to pass on the mess from his own chest. Marco squirms in his grip, laughing so hard he's near tears and unable to do much than let it happen.

“J-Jean, stop it,” he pants, bare legs tangling with Jean's as they lean back against the kitchen counter once more. In a last attempt at retaliation, Marco frees one hand and gets some goo out of his hair, only to smear it into Jean's.

“Hey, there's enough shit in my hair already!”

“Looks the same as always to me,” Marco teases, still rubbing his sticky fingers through the strands of Jean's hair.

Jean can't think of a good comeback and, if he's honest, he's a little too distracted by the sight of Marco, vivacious laughter bubbling from his lips and absolute joy shining in his eyes, covered in nothing but their raw breakfast. So he leans forward and presses his mouth to Marco's. 

There's a surprised sound and then Marco's tense body thaws against Jean's. They're still giggling into the kiss, high on intimacy and silliness and each other, but their lips move with an intensity Jean didn't expect. Jean's fingertips dig into the small of Marco's back, dragging him closer still, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. 

He woke up with a craving for Marco he could easily satisfy, by losing himself in the intertwining of their bodies, in the heat of touching, in the breathlessness of giving into the bliss. Now, a different but no less familiar longing flares up in his chest, blazing hotter with every move of Marco's lips on his. 

Voice low, Marco vocalizes the feeling that has started to steal the breath from Jean's lungs.

Jean chokes back the words, not an answer but his own declaration, because he can't hold it in, necessary or not.

They stay close as they shower off the mess they made of each other. They stay close as they lounge on the sofa with breakfast from their favorite place down the street. They stay close as Marco keeps drifting off and Jean nudges him awake for silly commercials. And they stay close as the daylight begins to fade, but their craving for each other does not.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet, I sure enjoyed writing it! If you did, kudos and comments would be absolutely lovely. Hopefully more to come this week!
> 
> You can also come say hi on [Tumblr](http://wingsofbadass.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
